


Monetary Value

by liions



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Coffee, Gen, The Commission, Timeline Shenanigans, Timeline What Timeline, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-01-06 03:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18379592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liions/pseuds/liions
Summary: Spawned from a conversation, just how does the Commission pay their agents? Well if Gloria is anything to go by, overworked employees do it--Emmett works mornings in the Currency Exchange department at the Commission and that suits him just fine. Each day is the same which also suits him just fine. Then his routine is thrown off and.... well, that suits him just fine too.





	1. Day Shift

**Author's Note:**

> conversation with dogbearinggifts@tumblr spawned this lovely thought <3

Emmett's days started the same. He caught his alarm clock on its second ring, stalling its motion and its noise cheerfully telling him it was 4:00 AM. He wished one day that he could say the sun woke him up, buttoning his shirt with a thoughtful glance out his window. Instead of dwelling on the dark landscape outside, the man swung his suspenders over his shoulders, threw his jacket on as he exited the room. 

Next came the coffee. 

Though the halls were lit, and voices bounced off the tiles, the only person that crossed his path was Calvin, Emmett's night shift counterpart. Their shoulders brushed in the tight space of the kitchen, twisting around each other in the routine of emptying a mug of stale coffee while another was filled with the morning's brew. 

"G'night Emmett." Empty mug raised in farewell; Calvin exited through the far door back to the dorms.

"Morning Calvin," was the customary reply, said before the man was completely out of sight. 

Emmett's mug fit into his grip like a worn glove. He took a sip before the liquid was cool enough to do so, jogging his brain into awareness before it wanted to be. One more corner turned, and he was at his office; the plaque on the wall proclaiming, "Currency Exchange" 

He sat with a small thump into the wooden chair behind his desk, eyes blearily blinking into the dusted air. He didn't move for a brief moment, work suspended by the action of drinking long from his mug. With caffeine buzzing its way into his system, Emmett finally acknowledged the tubes piled on the left side of the desk. They overflowed their little wire basket despite Calvin's work, all dutifully addressed to their office. As he reached into the pile, the delivery pipe hissed a warning, a new container skidding into the gap left behind. He ignored the new one, popping open the one in his hand with a crack of its seal. Inside, same as always, was the request on a curled piece of paper. The typed text filled the blank spaces of the form neatly:

Agent [Hadley] and Agent [Ermine]  
Mission [11224149]  
Money Required [73 Francs, circa 1554]  
Reasoning [To purchase horses, medical supplies]  
Signatures [here]

"Easy enough," He muttered to himself, getting up with the paper in hand. A quick shuffle to the right led to the purpose of this division in the agency. Inside the next room, the dust was a thick film in the air, swirling in the sun starting to peek in from the singular window at the end of the way. Piles shifted into an almost legible path caused by his own steps, puffing up under Emmett's shoes. He scanned the aisles with squinted eyes, head tilted upward to read the descriptions. It was barely wide enough for Emmett's shoulders among the shelves lined up as people in a long winding queue, but he knew the ways well. His destination was close to the window, faded boxes on the shelf proclaiming their contents proudly with cramped text scrawled on the fronts. 

"Ah," The man grumbled, shoving the paper into a pocket to hold up his glasses. Properly bespectacled, Emmett started low with his scan. "No, not that one, that's outdated by this time, right?" The note was dug out of his pocket. Yes, he confirmed with a nod. "They'll want, these." Prize found, the entire box was retrieved, placed on the windowsill. Inside, coins gleamed up at him from their little stacks. Contents confirmed, Emmett peered down at the paper, confirming how many coins were needed. They jangled in his hands like a wind chime as he made his way back to the desk. 

Paper tubes were pulled from a desk drawer, carefully sorting the money into easy to manage containers. With one last double check of his math, Emmett shoved the whole thing into an envelope. A stamp sealed the back, boldly claiming who the contents were for, then the package itself was put back into the messenger tube. It sealed with a click. Leaning over the pile that seemed to have multiplied in his absence, Emmett shoved the finished tube into a pipe on the right side of the desk, its brass plate stating, "outgoing". It left with a rush of air, off to the Agents. He sat back with a breath. One down. He grabbed another, and the cycle continued through the day. 

-

Agent [Hazel] and Agent [Cha-Cha]  
Mission [10241278]  
Money Required [100 Pesos, circa 1686]  
Reasoning [Wages]  
Signatures [here]

This was a common request, though Emmett still hesitated on proceeding as normal. Checking the rule book tucked into his left shirt pocket, he flipped to a well-creased page, scanning down for when wages were delivered for this type of mission. He hummed in surprise at the answer, "I guess upfront makes sense when you're killing a slave trader." Shrugging the book back into his home, Emmett moved to the shelves. Pesos were always in heavier boxes, he noticed, up on his toes to get the right year down from its level. 

-

Agent [Tobias] and Agent [Finley]  
Mission [01171554]  
Money Required [2,500 British Pounds]  
Reasoning [Transportation, Wages]  
Signatures [here]

"Agents, please give me the year." He didn't bother getting up to search the stacks. With the amount requested, the wrong type could expose the temporal assassins, and that was not an error Emmett wanted on his head. Instead, he searched the desk drawers. It took three drawers before he found the stamps, and another two drawers to find the correct color ink. With blocky text, Emmett stamped [request denied, more information required] across the text, rolled it back up and sent the tube off. 

-

Agent [Linus]  
Mission [04224083]  
Money Required [400 Luniares]  
Reasoning [Transportation]  
Signature [here]

"Digital age, eh?" Emmett sighed, taking a sip from his mug. He hated Luniares and the whole era really, if anyone asked him. Currency then were digital scraps of code rather than physical items one could hold. Made storing said currency accurately a tough job when they were all using typewriters and Pneumatics to send messages along. Still, he grimaced into the cold coffee, it was better than listening to the case workers argue about which invention was worth protecting the most. He grunted at the weight of the box heaviest of them all despite the lack of boxes on said shelf. It's quaint offerings showed an age of prosperity under a singular rule, the currency reigning for centuries. Emmett sped through the rest of the process, the chips nipping at his fingers with their foreign texture as he piled three into an envelope. He exhaled in relief when the tube was sent off. 

-

Agent [Five]  
Mission [05031672]  
Money Required [400 Canadian dollars]  
Reasoning []  
Signature [here]

He froze, staring at the requester's name with the shock of a lightning bolt. His humor however, kept his gears turning when the electricity of fear tried to stall him out. "Would it kill you to fill out the reason," Emmett grumbled, shoving the paper into his shirt pocket as he sighed up to his feet. "Or the year, the dollar changed several times in that time frame." He would fill the request, unlike the one he previously denied. The higher the caliber of assassin, the more important the money was, or something like that; the rule book's description was more formal, stuffy, than Emmett's wording. Besides, he knew what happened to employees that didn't fill Agent Five's requests. Agents didn't remain at the top for as long as this one had without a storm of rumors crackling as a warning. 

"Little bit of everything will have to do," was the final mutter, Emmett pulling down almost two entire shelves to meet the request. He spread the boxes around the floor to sift through their contents instead of carting each one to the desk. With the last box on the shelf, and the full amount carefully held in his hands, he went back to the office. 

"Took your time." Emmett started at the voice, shoulder smacking into the door frame as he back pedaled, money clutched to his chest. In his chair was Agent Five. The man looked composed, brows down in thought, a mug in one hand, shoes up on the desk. He had a Commission-stock rifle in his lap that he tapped an unrecognizable song on. Around him, the golden tubes glittered with the afternoon sun. He looked like a dragon carved in grey and sharp black, patiently waiting on its hoard for its next morsel to arrive. The agent tilted his head towards Emmett, looking at him over the rim of the mug. His next morsel apparently, was Emmett. 

He then held his hand out, expectant brow raised. To his credit, Emmett's hands didn't shake despite being watched by the Commission's most notorious agent, rolling the bills around the coins as dutifully as he had for the rest of the day's requests. He left the tube on the table, handing the completed envelope directly to Agent Five. 

"Your coffee was cold." was his thanks, and Emmett's chair was left spinning in the blue flare as space reset its creases. Emmett sighed, hands finally shaking as he dragged one of his jaw. His feet moved without thought, the man thudding down into the previously occupied chair. Coffee, his mind supplied for a chance of normalcy, but when Emmett reached out, he was met with empty air, fingertips smacking into just another messenger tube. His mug was gone. He dropped his hand to the desk with a disbelieving thump, jaw dropping. 

"Son of a gun stole my coffee."


	2. Night shift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> as all night shifts, calvin's has some peculiar qualities to it, such as handling a surprisingly consistent 11:45PM request rush, 2:30AM Handler visits and.... lost kids?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time is wobbly and wibbly, and I'm sure these two aren't kept up-to-date on the comings and goings of their company

"What do you mean you _met_ him?" Calvin's voice feigned quiet, concern ratcheting the volume to its normal level. He had asked this question twice already. 

"I told you," Emmett sighed, abandoning his coffee mug under the spray of water to turn and look at his coworker. He leaned against the counter, hands gripping the edge. "He was behind the desk just, sitting there."

Calvin stared at him, blinking away sleep faster than he thought possible. Their legs met in the middle, leaning against opposite counters in the tiny and currently empty kitchen. They had ten minutes before the rest of the evening shift moved in. Ten minutes that the pair used to pass along notes, to say hello when the rest of the day rushed by. Ten minutes, Emmett decided to use today to tell Calvin about The Actual Legendary Agent Five paying a _visit_.

"And you didn't think to tell me, I don’t know, right after it happened?" The coffee machine clicked next to his elbow in the brief pause. Calvin didn't even spare it a glance as his mug started to fill. Horror instead flooded his features. "What if he comes back? Makes it a ritual to visit us instead of waiting for the deliveries?"

"He wouldn't do that," Emmett dismisses but the words are hesitant. Calvin gives him a look of disbelief. "Why, why would he anyways?"

"Because..." Calvin searches for an answer, then shrugs. "Because- he is bored. You know how fast the man thinks. He finishes more missions faster than any agent, even the ones with tenure. He probably doesn't even know the word 'vacation'." Reaching for his mug to give him a distraction, Calvin winces into the temperature. 

"I think you're overreacting." Emmett says, watching his friend take another skeptical drink. "It hasn't happened since, you'll be fine. But I did want you to know, in case-"

"-In case?" Calvin's voice hits a high note again. Emmett claps him on the shoulder.

"Night, Calvin. You'll be fine." 

He sighs as Emmett heads out, "G'morning Emmett."

-

By the time Calvin was around the corner and behind the desk, sun waving goodnight off the golden message tubes, his mug was half-empty, and his worries had been left back in the kitchen. He scoffed at his previous reaction. Agents didn't drop by the office, especially not theirs. Emmett was overworked-- they both were-- and just imagined something to give his day a bit of excitement. As he started into the pile, Calvin had to smile at Emmett's story. His coworker was just trying to cheer them both up and it had worked. 

Agent [Lark]  
Mission [08152472]  
Money Required [170 Sri Lankan rupee, circa 1895]  
Reasoning [Wages]  
Signature [here]

Agent [Nida]  
Mission [02222047]  
Money Required [40 Adelaide pounds, circa 1920]  
Reasoning [Travel expenses]  
Signature [here]

Calvin whistled to himself as he strode through the shelves, pulling two tubes worth of requests at the same time. They weren’t that close together in time nor physical location in the storage room, but the boxes were light, and he found a skip added to his step at the earlier conversation. 

“Agent Five, huh?” He breathed a laugh, setting both boxes heavily on the corner of the desk which creaked in response. “I’ll believe it when I see it-- woah!” His lack of care wobbled the pile of tubes dangerously, and Calvin moved frantically to catch everything. The spill pooled against his chest, only a few escaping around his arms. He holds still for a breath, then one more before he trusts his grip on the mess. He carefully shifts, wincing as a tube rolls away with a clatter, and shoves the whole pile back into the wire basket. It stabilizes, and he exhales. 

Agent [Kelly and Alvar]  
Mission [06151980]  
Money Required [357 400 Spanish dollars, Mexican, 1840s]  
Reasoning [Hazard pay]  
Signature [here]

If the tube wasn’t a giveaway for what sort of request it would be, its appearances solidified the details. The request had a liberal smear in the upper corner of some substance and was crinkled, as if it had been torn from the typewriter before the writer was ready to give it up. Calvin pulled his glasses from a pocket, leaning in close to examine the paper. 

It looked like dried blood. Hopefully neither of the Agent’s blood, but… Calvin carefully sets the note aside, wiping his fingers on the desk’s surface before getting up. The money gets packaged tightly, unsure what climate it would be sent into. Watching it speed away, Calvin finishes his second cup of coffee. 

Agent [Carmen]  
Mission [07181453]  
Money Required [30,000 American Dollars, circa 2000]  
Reasoning [Job-related bonus, see Handler’s attached note]  
Signature [here]

Calvin shifts the papers, shuffling through the stack until the mentioned note appeared on top.  
A colorful signature from the Handler herself was the only organic piece on the page, typed codes filling in the rest of the form. Its specifics were unfamiliar, prompting a frown. He checks his left pants pocket, feeling for his book, then the right. With a sigh, he sets the entire packet down, pulling open drawers until his own copy of the rule book surfaces. It takes four drawers and a shift of ink pads before it is found, and he flips quickly through. Despite being considered a bonus, the code’s description tells him in its convoluted wording that the agents get “Half now, half later.” Putting the book into his pocket, the man shrugs. The rules were the rules, he figured as he walked back to storage to collect the money. 

Agent [Toro and Kayden]  
Mission [12031792]  
Money Required [560 shillings, circa 1600s]  
Reasoning [Travel fees]  
Signature [here]

As the night wore on, the walk to and from the kitchen became insignificant as the coffee machine’s night shift supply dwindled out. Sounds drifting in from the hallway faded from their comforting buzz, into silence. All typewriter clicks faded out; only those with difficult cases stayed behind. Only the pneumatic tubes in the Currency office remained active, depositing requests and taking them away with a rush of air that didn’t register anymore. The quiet was the hardest part of Calvin’s shift.

Agent [Zion]  
Mission [09101516]  
Money Required [230 Luniares – convert from included money]  
Reasoning [Reassignment]  
Signature [here]

There was no comfort in rambling aloud like Emmett liked to do, Calvin finding it odd to hear his own voice bounce around the shelves, bump over the metal tubes and reflect back to him with a slight delay. He could hum though. They were just scraps of songs, mixed and matched from the eras and times he visited before shifting to this line of work. Just something to fill the silence. 

Agent [Ave]  
Mission [10011989]  
Money …Required …. 

A prickle of attention travels up his spine, throwing Calvin from his focus. Someone else was in the office. Running on the fumes of his last cup of coffee, panic ramps up his heartbeat. What if Emmett’s story was true? Would Agent Five really visit the Currency Exchange office just to pick up his requests? Why send the tubes over only to collect the money in person? What if they were too slow, and that’s why he was visiting? Calvin chides himself for falling into false security, _I was right! Agent Five does get bored_ \- then, he breathed. It was probably just the Handler stopping by. Routine visit. She did those sometimes. Just a visit… At two in the morning. 

The presence hadn’t moved since flickering in, so Calvin loosened his hunched posture and slowly looked up. He hoped he appeared not-at-all panicked to have his superior in the office, just another hardworking cog in the machine ready to keep being a cog. The desk held the suggestion of organization, the tubes dwindled from the 11:45 rush, allowing Calvin to scan the room without too much cover. It showed he was working diligently, but he wished he hadn’t gone through quite so many tubes to give him something more to hide behind. 

Across the way was, well, a kid. Calvin’s shoulders drop in confusion. Just a kid, in an unfamiliar school uniform, leaning by the doorway as if he’s trying to escape from someone and had succeeded for the moment. Calvin blinks. He hadn’t been spotted just yet and his brain sluggishly tried to think of solutions for a non-currency related scenario. _Was there a memo about a ‘bring your kid to work’ day?_ He thinks, then, _does anyone in management even have a kid?_

“If you want to hide,” Calvin starts, consciously clearing his throat to get the boy’s attention. He doesn’t miss the way the kid immediately pretends he wasn’t caught off guard. There was something in that reaction that makes him hope he read the situation right. The kid hasn’t moved from the doorway, but his eyes shift from the halls to Calvin‒their depths dark and incisive. They remind him of a great predator prowling at the seams of the universe, of the Handler, picking apart the world until her palms were filled with the aspects that suited her conquest, the rest abandoned to crumble away into nothingness. He wonders briefly if he’s hers and his hand jitters as he gestures to the far corner for context. 

“Behind the tube storage gives a good view of the door.” Populating the already cozy room, careful stacks of empty messenger tubes grew dust like moss on a thick forest floor. It was a good place to take a nap without being found. The kid looked like he needed a nap. “You can stay as long as you want.” 

No reply was given, but with the heartbeat in his ears, Calvin isn’t too sure he would hear anything. He picks up Agent Ave’s request to give his hands something to do, paper crinkling. He hopes the solution works, breaking away from the kid’s stare.

Agent [Ave]  
Mission [10011989]

His focus is slow to return, segmented to keep an eye on the boy. 

Money Required [50 silver, 1990s]

Out of his periphery, Calvin can see the defensive posture slowly melt away. He smiles faintly. 

Reasoning [Travel expenses – final destination 05131550]  
Signature [here]

The currency’s vague descriptor pulls the rest of his attention back into the work, prompting a search through the desk first for the list of currencies of that time, then the shelves once it was discovered. Out of sight, Calvin breathes easier and puts the boy out of his mind entirely. It was almost the end of his shift; someone would either find the kid and take him to where he was supposed to be, or he’d leave when he was ready. There were too many tubes left to go through before Emmett got in. A song from the era Agent Ave was traveling through became the whistled beat for counting out the coins on the way back to the desk. He sent the tube off without another thought towards the stranger in his office, pulling another from the pile. 

Calvin misses the quiet “thanks” under the whoosh of the tubes.


End file.
